When I was a child I competed in traditional Korean storytelling and studied singing with a renowned Korean opera singer. Practicing these art forms meant learning how to use my voice as an instrument and how to engage my whole body in creative expression.

My first singing lesson was all about how to hold myself and how to hold the physical space around me – we didn’t sing a single note. The second lesson was only focused on breathing. Until then, I had taken breathing for granted and completely underestimated how much practice I would need to improve the quality of my breath. As I eventually began to breathe more deeply, I was asked to build on the previous lesson.

I will never forget how altering the quality of my breath completely shifted how I held myself and the space around me. I felt ready to sing.

After performing locally in Korean community settings, I was invited to sing on Korean radio. Eventually I was given the opportunity to perform Korean folk songs, including a lesser-known lullaby, at Lincoln Center in New York City.

Just as I had not questioned my breath for over a decade, it took twice as long for the invisible shared roots of that lullaby to teach me about activating agency.

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Years ago I was part of an online workshop on Adaptive Leadership. The topic of exploration was purpose and we had just engaged in a series of reflective activities.

As I sat quietly in my dimly-lit living room, the facilitator asked if anyone wanted to “sing their purpose.”

… what?

I could feel my heart racing.

After choosing to stop performing all those years ago, I had not sung much at all. The idea of singing suddenly felt very vulnerable, especially in a small group setting with people I was just getting to know.

But I found myself drawn to the invitation, like a moth to a flame. What if this was a moment to use my authentic voice and encounter something not-yet-known? What if this has nothing to do with performance?

Before I had a chance to overthink, I raised my hand. As the group turned off their cameras and held silence, I took a moment to breathe and tune into my body. When I was ready, I began humming a tune that felt as brand new as something long familiar.

Filled with emotion and tears streaming down my face, I allowed myself to express my Purpose Song.

–

Earlier this year I flew to Seoul to support my mother. She was exhibiting her work for the first time in eight years after choosing to experiment with her art in solitude. This particular series of shows had been planned as a gift for my grandmother, a person who had shown profound support of my mother’s creative gifts throughout her life.

Months before the opening, my beloved grandmother unexpectedly passed away. As the opening date neared, news of political protests began to raise questions in our family. Out of concern for my mother’s well-being, we wondered if perhaps this was no longer the right time for the exhibitions.

Without pause, my mother said simply, “If the purpose of my work is to share in hope, is this not the exact time we should be there?”

As 100,000 protestors flooded the streets of Seoul, including right outside the gallery window, my mother gently unpacked her paintings one by one. With the same quiet love that she poured into each brushstroke, she filled the space with her deepest intentions of hope and healing for her people.

–

As the days passed, instead of explaining her work, my mother trusted the grace of her creative expression, the timing of the exhibition, and the people that would enter the space. The Voice of Nature – Evolution was her visual exploration of our connection to nature, our connection to movement, our connection to each other. And she embodied her hopeful intention in the way she held the space.

As visitors left the gallery, they told me they experienced

healing,

fresh air as if directly from the mountains,

the hope of spring.

–

One day, a man walked in wearing a blue tweed blazer, carrying a light grey backpack. He seemed drawn in and intrigued as he walked around the space. In the meantime, there were other new visitors taking photos, some of my mother’s friends chatting, a new customer finalizing her long-awaited purchase, and my family observing the marchers outside the window.

Once the man had viewed every painting, I could sense that he was going to look for my mom. Moments later he approached her and said, “I am so inspired by your work! I am also an artist exploring The Voice of Nature. It might not be my place to ask this, but may I play my magical instrument for you?”

In that moment, partly out of a desire to protect my mother and partly out of concern for how this would impact the experience of the other visitors, I prepared to step in and respectfully decline.

In that same moment, my mother’s face lit up as she exclaimed, “What a gift! Yes of course! Please, use this space as your own.”

His face captured her light as he was in awe of her joyful, genuine and generous response.

As I began feeling shame for my own reaction, my mother shoved a phone into my hands and asked me to record the performance. While my mother rallied those in the room to gather ‘round, I watched as the man took out a living potted plant and a portable speaker from his backpack.

He hung the plant around his neck, set up his speaker, and began blowing into the leaves to create a melody.

… what?

As he played his music, I hid behind the camera cringing. As I looked to my right I saw my mother swaying and smiling, taking it in, allowing the music to move her – and I saw how everyone was following her lead.

I was overcome with shame. This is not who I am, is it? Why am I judging him? Why am I excluding myself from this moment?

Just as I was busy criticizing myself, his speaker stopped working. The background track from his speaker kept skipping and he began struggling with his performance.

I turned off the recording and looked over to my mom. She smiled and encouraged him to play without any accompaniment. After a bit of hesitation, he turned off the speaker and returned to the center of the stage.

As I began recording once more, the man paused. Then, he started playing a new song.

To my utter shock, he had chosen my Purpose Song. The lesser-known lullaby I had learned to sing as a child. A song I had never heard played or performed by anyone else since. The song that unexpectedly came out of me when I tuned into my purpose.

Just as I was drowning in self-judgment for judging him, our song, our shared purpose, filled the space. I was overcome with emotion. Instead of cringing behind the camera, I was now sobbing with gratitude. I received the gracious invitation to join in the present moment as myself.

Through his authentic creative expression, he helped me find my footing in our shared history and open up to what was possible.

–

When I came back from my time in Seoul, I felt different. The experiences I shared with my mother in the gallery opened me up in ways I did not know I needed, teaching me what I had yet to fully understand about holding space.

Spending time connecting to my roots, learning from my mother’s being, and witnessing unexpected healing – among others and within myself – revealed that I have so much left to be in awe of, so much left to discover about what wants to come true through us collectively.

Before I left, I had designed the Adaptive Leadership™ Coaching Certification Course. I had poured my deep intention into the creation process and experienced how it fed my soul. It was the first time I ever made something that I knew was shaping who I would become through the very process of making it.

But I had underestimated a crucial element.

I had not really understood the role of emergence in co-creation.

My mom did not know her exhibition would take place at such a tumultuous time. She certainly did not know she would be visited by a man who creates music with a potted plant. He did not know he would encounter a space presenting visual artworks depicting The Voice of Nature. He did not know he would be invited to share his musical interpretations of the same theme. I did not know that I needed to hear my Purpose Song to suspend judgement and participate in shared purpose.

What if emergence is shared purpose? What if emergence is simply the experience of coming true?

I never told the man about my experience. He left the gallery feeling elated from his own experience, not knowing he had profoundly contributed to my growth.

With a clarified intention inspired by experiencing The Voice of Nature – Evolution, I redesigned the whole program. Trusting the grace of uncertainty, the timing of this moment, and the people I will meet on this path, I made a significant shift to activate my agency.

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Activating agency is not only about choice. It is the result of taking purposeful risks with and for others in the presence of the unknown. It is the recognition that we cannot control or even imagine who will receive what, when or wherefrom. It is about letting go of knowing what to do and choosing openness to receive what wants to emerge.

This dance with emergence isn’t just the motion of letting go of control. It is believing that something more beautiful, more surprising, more gracious wants to come true. And trusting that we – in all our light and shadow – are invited to participate in its unfolding.

Activating agency is a vulnerable choice because it is acknowledging that we need each other to engage in the kind of co-creation that gives life to the new we sense is possible. It is painful, iterative, surprising, risky, creative and life-affirming. And it is a gracious invitation awaiting all of us.

Are you ready to take risks in your leadership coaching to discover what wants to come true through you? If so, the Adaptive Leadership™ Coaching Certification Course invites you to co-create the space and the community to do just that.